Monochromatic
by close that door behind you
Summary: Backstory for Kylo Ren; setup for TFA. Kylo just wants to be over someone he loved; Bryn just wants to stop thinking about her mother's brutal murder. Life boasts no coincidences, and maybe they can discover, in each other, that no matter what we say, people always need someone else to call their own.
1. Ch I

**Note: This entry is more of a prologue. The main story will come in the next entry, about a year after these events happened.**

 **Ch. I**

The rain fell from the sky in ropes, curling on the ground in inky pools. It chattered on the abandoned Courascant street, interrupting the silence and the image of the half moon floating in a thousand puddles.

In a nicer neighborhood, it might have smelled like wet earth and growing plants, but in the slums the metallic scent of gasoline penetrated the air. The neon lights from the hole-in-the-wall bar across the street burned through the curtain of rain, its music not heard more than felt, throbbing through the sidewalk.

A girl's shadow flitted over the wall as she dashed into the street. Her black cloak streamed behind her like a wedding train. The girl takes a quick glance behind her, her breath coming in short pants. Her face is slick with rain or sweat, and her eyes reflect the moon like a thousand mirror shards. She's strikingly human, or at least a close breed, and possesses a coveted caramel tan that speaks of wealthy ease and sun. It's obvious she doesn't belong here.

A crowd of men break into the street like water from a damn. They belong here, to the rough streets and harsh darkness that bleaches their skin an almost sickly pale. Their work boots scatter the puddles and they close in as the girl comes to an abrupt stop. Her shoes slip on the tiles and she only just regains her balance.

The rain is the only sound for a moment. Then,

"Easy, sweetheart. We don't want to cause trouble, which is more than we can say for you." One of them steps forward and spreads his arms in a gesture of easiness but the action is betrayed by his narrowed eyes. "You should have left us alone. We were ready to do the same, even if you were _such_ a pretty little thing."

The girl produced a weapon from the folds of her cloak. It was silver and sleek, and if her looks didn't spell out MONEY the blaster certainly did.

The other men responded with weapons of their own; cruder but somehow more menacing. Black blasters and humming vibroblades. The leader pulled out a long silver tube and, as he ran the pad of his thumb over a button, it crackled to life. Violet electricity arced from it, reaching towards the girl with white fingers. The rain hissed and turned to steam around it.

"Now here's how it's going to go." The man twisted it around casually, letting the girl's eyes follow it through the moon-bleached air. "You'll put down your weapon and kick it to me. You will then remove your fancy play-pretend cloak - which I know is lined with real fur, by the way - and also place any valuables you have at your feet. And don't think I didn't notice that nice little necklace around your throat. Put that down too."

Nothing. Until,

"Unless, of course, you want us to rip it from you."

The girl didn't move. If anything she only planted her feet and crouched lower, moving into a fighting stance. The muzzle of her blaster flashed.

The man shrugged, and the electricity around his staff seemed to intensify. "Suit yourself."

They had only taken one step when they were stopped.

A bolt from the girl stopped the man to the leader's right, but that's about as far as she went because a figure in black suddenly appeared beside her. One second there was only open air, the next second he filled it: tall, broad shoulders, smothered in black that seemed darker than black, blacker than the night that surrounded them, even. He wasn't just dark: he seemed to absorb the light, drawing it in and doing away with it. He was just a body of shadow, like an ocean at night with no moon.

A red, three-pronged blade appeared in his hands. Brighter than blood, like a raw ruby. It rivaled the purple of the leader, more than rivaled, and even it couldn't reveal the features of the hooded man- if it was a man. If anything it just added more shadow to him, another layer, a red filter of blood against the darkness of his cloak. The blade screamed with energy.

He leapt forward and drew a glowing line through the leader's waist. There was a second of silence, where not even the rain seemed to breathe, before he crumpled to the ground, as lifeless as a puppet with its strings cut. There was no yell of pain, of fear. No scream. Just alive one second and somewhere else the next.

The girl screamed for him: a cutting, clear scream that seemed to waken the world again. Her eyes were stuck to the collapsed man in front of her.

The dark figure still wasted no time. He was faster than them, much faster, and cut each one down with the same brutal efficiency as the first. Only the last one had enough wits about him to start retreating before the blade severed his head from his body.

And then there was silence again. The rain continued. The blade now faded to a quiet hum, as if it had been excited by the prospect of battle but now had been satisfied. The girl was frozen. The man didn't move.

The blade disappeared, leaving a small cylinder in the man's hand. He rushed back to the girl, forgetting his victims.

His hands ripped off her hood, revealing a tumble of dark hair. "You idiot!" His voice was like the deep thrum of a bass guitar. The kind that throbbed into the soles of your feet until you mistook it for the beat of your own heart. "You promised me to stop!" He placed his hands on the sides of her face, the pads of his thumbs brushing against her cheek in a strangely intimate manner. And then all of the anger seemed to drain out of him as he said, "Are you hurt?"

The contact seemed to awaken her. She stepped back, out of his reach, eyes glued to him, mouth still agape. She seemed to be struggling not to look back towards the ground, as if the sight of her fallen assaulters hurt her. Then,

"You killed them."

"What?" The man glanced over his shoulder and then shook his head in impatience. Part of his hood became dislodged, and for one second the moonlight embraced his features: pale skin, a hint of black hair plastered to his forehead. "Not important. Now tell me, _are you hurt-"_

"No. No. Not not important." She seemed to regain most of her speech now, and anger colored her tone. "You _killed_ them."

"They were going to _kill_ you!"

"They just wanted my money! And you _killed_ them!"

"Stop-" He hesitated.

"Stop what? Stop making it sound like it's a bad thing?" She trembled. Cold or anger.

"I'm not-"

"Look at them!" She walked over to where one of them lay, body broken over the pavement.

He looked only at her.

"I don't-"

" _Look at them._ "

His eyes turned reluctantly to the body then flicked away again. He folded his arms. "I did what had to be done." And then his tone softened. "To protect you. To protect things that are important to me." He moved forward now, moved so close that their shadows kissed. A single hand came up to the side of her face. "To protect the people I love."

But she was silent. She looked up into the man's face, into his dark, dark, darker-than-dark eyes. And she looked scared.

"You can't even see what you've done."

" _Please-"_

"Get away from me." She backed away from him a second time, but this was more hurried, more instinctual.

He took a step forward but she whipped out her blaster again, which stopped him in his tracks. He had taken out an entire group of armed men yet couldn't seem to find the actions to stop her- nor the words.

"Get away from me." She repeated, her voice rising with fear. "Never come near me again." She seemed to be on the point of hysteria, her hand shook violently and the blaster rattled. "You're a _monster_! I can't believe I _trusted_ you! I can't believe I _loved_ you!"

"Ka-"

 _"Who ARE you?"_

And then, with a whip of her cloak, she turned and ran. Ran away away away, her feet slipping on the street pavement. Splash, splash, splash.

The man stayed, shocked into stillness, one hand still reaching out.

The rain fell from the sky in ropes, curling on the ground in inky pools. It chattered on the abandoned Courascant street, interrupting the silence and the image of the half moon floating in a thousand puddles.

In a nicer neighborhood, it might have smelled like wet earth and growing plants, but in the slums the metallic scent of gasoline penetrated the air. The neon lights from the hole-in-the-wall bar across the street burned through the curtain of rain, its music not heard more than felt, throbbing through the sidewalk.

Still the man stayed. His heart beat out the question:

 _Who. Are. You._

 _Who. Are. You._

 _Who. Are. You._

 **fin _._**


	2. Ch II

_**Note: I apologize for the time it took me to write this chapter.**_

 **Ch. II**

"No. No. No no no. No."

"Six nos. I wonder what that could mean."

"Hilslay, this is an _engagement party_. With _important First Order officers_. You can't wear _that_."

"Why not?"

"Because you look like you're attending a funeral!"

"Maybe I still am."

"Don't give me your cheeky philosophy, Hilslay. You're not wearing that."

"Stop me."

"I will. I can call your father."

"He won't do anything. He hasn't done anything for the past two years."

"But he would have. He would have stopped you from making a fool of yourself at your best friend's engagement party!"

"It's my best friend's cousin. So it's not as important. And for heaven's sake, it's just a dress, Ficco. There's nothing particularly macabre about it. In fact, I find the style quite festive. You're just fussing because of the color."

"Black is never the best choice for parties like this."

"I don't really care."

"You would have."

"Emphasis on _would_."

"Yes, emphasis on would. It's been two years, Hilslay."

"I don't even think you have the right to address me like that. My dad would have flogged you."

"Emphasis on _would_. And ooh, playing the power card now? I don't care. You need to start moving on."

"You need to respect my choices."

"Respect your choices? Bryn Tierney-"

"Ooh, the real name card."

"-Bryn Tierney, my job is to keep you from tarnishing your family's name."

"Don't be dramatic. You're my personal servant and stylist."

"And I advise you to make another choice."

"Normally, I would trust you. But I'm trusting my dignity on this one. I'm going to wear this damn dress if I have to do everything without your help. And I refuse to swayed."

"... Is that the final verdict?"

"It is."

"... At least wear the necklace I picked out."

"Deal."

* * *

"You look _wonderful_ , Bryn." Yasmin looped her arm through mine, pulling me out of the line that snaked towards the entrance of the ballroom. She pulled me forward, ignoring the impatient officials still waiting to reach the front. "I've always wanted to get ahold of your stylist."

"His name is Ficco." I ran a hand over the fabric of the full skirt. I tried to will myself to become soft as water, pliant as the silk. "You don't think it's odd, do you?"

"What, the color? No. Well, maybe a little. It is an engagement party."

I tried to swallow the diamond in my throat. My tongue was covered in sand. "Maybe I'll stand out."

"Isn't that what you were trying to avoid?"

She was too right. Ficco was too right. And I was stupid, too too stupid. The dress suddenly felt like a brand against my skin- no longer cool silk, soft as water. It was a tattoo, or maybe a scar, and I felt like everybody we were passing in line was suddenly going to turn to me with those horrible words: _I'm sorry for your loss-_

We've reached the front of the line. Yasmin breezes on in, casual yet stunning in her waterfall of a dress, cascading around her legs, a splash of dark hair curling on her bare shoulders, her skin like warm mud. She must look beautiful next to me, my miles of parchment skin, my watery eyes, my dress a shadow against my body.

The ballroom was nice: not that I saw it was nice, but I knew it would be nice. I tried to remember why I was here. Yasmin's arm reminded me. The engagement party. Her cousin. The general.

"I don't even know Kassiah." I managed to wring the words from my throat. "Is that weird? I'm going to her party and I don't even know her?"

"Not really. There's a lot of people who only know her from court, or through her fiancé. I'll make sure to introduce you to them."

"That would be nice." Nice? I was struggling to walk. I couldn't make small talk with an important general and his fiancée. "What's she like?"

Yasmin stopped so she could look me in the eye. The flame of a smile lit her face. "Oh, she's so _beautiful_ , Bryn. And so kind. She's just a couple years away from us, but it feels like the world. She's so composed."

I laughed, and the action eased away the knots in my throat. "You certainly sing her praises. Why haven't I ever met her?"

"I've only become good friends with her in the past year or so. She's always busy, too." Her grin morphed into something more mischievous. "Mainly with her fiancé."

A real laugh this time. "Yasmin! How scandalous."

"You have no idea how excited I am for you to meet her and the general." Yasmin lowered her voice, so low that Bryn had to lean closer to pick up on the words. "Bryn, I think they're in love."

That stopped me cold. In love. A warning signal went off somewhere, and I suddenly felt like I had been drenched in water. The ballroom's temperature dropped at least ten degrees.

"What makes you think so?" I managed to ask.

She was still somewhere warm. Her cheeks were flushed, as if some kind of fever had taken over her. It superheated something in her eyes, making them glint and dance. "She just seems so happy all the time. Like she's found herself."

I forced a laugh. "You don't actually believe in things like that, do you?" I knew what happened to people in love. Better not to let yourself believe in it, because then comes the horrible acceptance of how human people are. And how fragile they are.

"I do, and not a drop of your cynicism can convince me otherwise. Love exists."

Oh, Yasmin, yes, love exists. Which is why you should be running in the other direction.

I started to walk again, knowing she would follow me. "You can believe what you want, but just know how arrangements like Kassiah's work up here." I gave her a look that I hope she received. "Your daydreams have an expiration date."

She chuckled, but it was hollow, as if it was just an echo from deep inside a cave. "I know."

Silence, then,

"By God, do you know how to put a damper on a party." She reignited her smile, and I marveled in how well she shifted. I could never do that. I had never learned to do that. "Let's enjoy this, at least for Kassiah's sake, shall we?"

It was a lost cause. I had been with myself for too long, and now being exposed to other people and having to pick through their talk for the things they really meant was starting to give me a headache. But I bit down on my tongue again, again, again, for Yasmin's sake. "For Kassiah's sake," I agreed, I lied.

* * *

It was cruel how well they still knew each other.

It was downright cruel, he decided, that he still had the ability to proofread her smiles and X them all out with red pen. It was cruel that he could still sift through her faces for the fleeting, desperately honest micro expressions. That he could read the concealer under her eyes like an open book. It was so, so cruel.

Kassiah had a bad habit of wasting her smiles but she never really went out of her way to make everybody around her happy. (That sounded bad, but he didn't care.) This recent effort of trying to improve everybody around her was just a ploy; another of the guises he had learned to make friends with.

But that's where the line started to blur. A guise for what? To hide the fact that she regrets it? To hide that sorrow? Or to make her feel less guilty about feeling happy?

Maybe even she didn't know.

He had been both surprised and conflicted by his own invitation. Surprised because usually his branch of the government didn't affiliate with the court (unless there was a global council meeting) and conflicted because, again, Kassiah's motive confused him. Was it to show him that they could still be friends? That she had moved on? Or was it to show him that this - _this_ \- was really the end?

 _The End._ _And the princess and the prince lived happily ever after._ That was how things were supposed to end, right?

It was cruel. It was so, so cruel, because at this moment he knew exactly what she would say.

 _Happily ever afters are never for the villains of the story._

* * *

I had thought I could do this. I was wrong.

The party had been going on for an hour and twenty-eight minutes. I was an hour and twenty-eight minutes survivor, which left an hour and thirty-two minutes before I could curtsy to the couple, thank you for inviting me, I wish you much happiness, and leave for my own loneliness where everything was so much more predictable and honest.

But an hour and thirty-two minutes had never looked so long than it did from my corner of the ballroom, sipping a flute of champagne, trying to drown my anxiety in it. A heavy head would do nothing for me but nothing to do would have heavy consequences for my head. The glass of liquid gave me something familiar to think about. And it was such a light alcohol that it wouldn't really affect my judgement. Not too much.

I dreaded the time for music. I dreaded the dancing, the looking demure and coming up with small talk for council members I really didn't want to see because I hadn't seen them since… Since…

I downed the rest of the glass, swallowed the rest of it in the most unladylike manner I could muster. The answer was no, two years is not enough time, Ficco.

I must have done something wrong in the past, because a jacketed string quartet started to play on the other side of the room, striking up a mid-tempo song for the people to dance to and a panic for my heart to beat to.

Dancing. Dancing. I could barely remember my dance lessons, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was letting someone touch me when no one has gone near me for two years. The problem was seeing someone who had not been affected at all. The problem was looking people in the eye who couldn't do the same to me during the funeral.

And I couldn't - _wouldn't_ \- deal with that.

But already the men were turning to their pretty companions, to girls in groups, smiling, holding out their hands, bowing. Already men were looking around for the girls who had come alone, to the girls who had seen the soon-to-be husband and wife and were dreaming about finding that themselves one day.

I moved before anyone could choose me as a target. Moving like I had a purpose, like I had a partner already waiting for me at the other side of the room, not making eye contact, just moving, moving moving through the people, I can't breathe-

I bumped right into him. I looked up - _literally_ looked up, God, was he tall - into his face, which was annoyed, irritated, but _new_ , new to court then, new to me, not someone who had refused to look-

"Do you want to dance?" I blurted out.

* * *

She was small, that was the first thing he noticed. Small and pale, which was only enhanced by the deadblack cloth surrounding her.

Black was a strange color for an engagement party, he decided, as he looked at her. Then again, he was wearing black too. He wasn't exactly sure why, but he had thought it a mistake when he had arrived and saw the bright colors of everyone else.

Except for her. She was the only council member he did not recognize, and yet she looked the most… _Comforting_? Familiar? If only because of the color she wore.

She was pretty, he supposed. Her pale skin and dark brown hair were set off magnificently by her eyes, which were a peculiar shade of blue. Yes, she was pretty.

 _Good_ , he thought suddenly. It became clear to him now, the purpose of his invitation, and now he felt only disgust… And perhaps shame. Shame at being so quick to be the one to crawl back. His pride would not allow it. Not anymore.

He held out his hand. "It would be my pleasure." And he meant it.

* * *

I could not believe my luck. I thanked whatever God was out there that I had the fortune of scoring the one man I did not recognize, and that this man had accepted my brash and rather eccentric invitation to dance.

It was a little bit unorthodox, the girl asking the guy to dance, but I was desperate. And he didn't object.

Now that I had a little bit of space to breathe, I examined him. God, was he _tall_. And not just tall, but _big_ : all broad shoulders and a warrior's build. He moved like a warrior too, all nimble, quick steps that I had to focus on to keep up with. Not particularly graceful, but that was to be expected with someone his size. The tips of his dark hair brushed against his shoulders.

He noticed my staring. I looked away.

"Thank you," I said, as quietly as I could manage.

He arched an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For…" I suddenly didn't know what for. What was I supposed to tell him? That I was having a mental breakdown in public? That he was my solution? That I was basically using him? "...for dancing."

"People don't usually thank their partners for dancing." He said mildly.

"People don't usually accept dance requests from panicking girls."

"Is it your first time in court?" He asked suddenly.

I laughed. Real, but bitter. "No. And that's exactly the problem."

* * *

The song seemed to end more quickly after that. But when it did, her panic seemed to grow again, only holding on tighter to his hands. She glanced around wildly as if someone was going to attack her.

"Are you alright?" He asked, not really concerned. He really did just want her to let go of his hands.

"I'm-" She swallowed. She was shaking. "I'm-"

"May I borrow your partner?" They were interrupted by a young man with blond hair. He smiled reassuringly at...God, he didn't even know her name.

She stepped closer to him. Intimately close. Way too close. Closer than anyone had been since-

"No." He said.

Both of them looked at him in surprise.

"No?" The man echoed, the smile frozen on his face.

"No?" The girl said in amazement.

"No." He repeated, and, as the next song started, he whirled the girl away from the stunned blonde.

She just looked at him. He looked anywhere but her.

"What's your name?"

The echo of a smile appeared on her face. Just an echo. But it was there.

"Bryn."

 **Fin.**


End file.
